


His Name Was Thomas Barrow.

by probablyawful



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 23:42:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5435216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/probablyawful/pseuds/probablyawful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's December 2015 and Jeremy is prepared for another repetitive day at the nursery. Upon arriving, he finds they have a new patient. George Crawley, yet another old heir expecting everything handed on a silver plate, he suspects. Until he finds George Crawley has quite the fascinating story to tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Name Was Thomas Barrow.

**Author's Note:**

> I have been thinking about the Thomas Barrows of our world history as of lately, and thought their stories deserve to be told. Basically an "old person reminisces"-story, and maybe not very interesting to other ears but my own, but in case I am mistaken... Enjoy!

**December 2015**

It was eight in the morning, and Jeremy was late, standing at the tube station, waiting to squeeze himself into the next over-packed train, to in order to get to work. He had been working at the local nursery for nearly two years now, and was slowly starting to become dreadfully tired of it. Same old stories every day. Old folks shouting at him that “No, mom, I don't want to go to school today!”, despite being over 180 years old and counting.

But it wasn't a bad day, even so. It also just so happened to be his three-year anniversary with Nick, who would be taking him out after work. If Nick's word was anything to go by, he never wanted him to quit his job at the hospital; he loved the stories he took away from there. Stories about great grandmothers flirting with their own grandchildren, thinking they were former affairs from the 1930s, or people yelling at the staff, thinking they were from the Gestapo. Nick loved it, because Nick didn't have to see it every day of his life. Nick went to college, studied marketing, and was getting good enough grades that he would find himself a fine, prestigious job that actually paid, as opposed to Nick who cheated his way through upper secondary school and ended up here. His only reason for actually working here, being that his mother knew someone who knew someone who did. Or something. Rather humiliating, if he dared say so himself.

 

He was in for a scolding as he arrived twenty minutes late, again. Jessica glared at him, stating they had a new patient to take care of and everyone was busy. He had to take him. And he should have helped him move in just about - oh, right! - twenty minutes ago. Bugger.

\- “Poor sod had to put his photo albums up by himself. He was a sweet, old man, too, come to think of it.”

Jeremy sighed. - “Fine, I'll take him. What's his name?”

\- “George Crawley.” She handed him the papers, watching as he scanned through them briefly. George Crawley, born 23rd of September 1921, son of Matthew Reginald Crawley (b. 1885- d. 1921) and Lady Mary Josephine Talbot (nee Crawley).

Jeremy cursed inwardly. He was the son of a lady. With capital L. That was never good news. The old heirs were few and far between, thank God for that, but those that arrived, were absolutely horrible to deal with. Expecting everything on a silver platter, like it was still 1914 and he was some kind of qualified servant.

_I feel sorry for all the poor assholes who had to work for you._

He didn't believe Jessica for one moment when she claimed he was nice. He was probably spoiled from birth, Little Lord Fauntleroy style.

\- “Is his brain at least working?” he asked Jessica, and she rolled her eyes.

\- “He does have some problems with his memory, but is mostly clear. You've had worse. Now, get lost!”

 

He stalked up to George Crawley's room with what appeared to be an entire drug layer, but which most likely were just painkillers and whatever they could get him to keep his memory fresh. That was one good part of the work, though. He got some damn good stories out of the old ones sometimes, and when they weren't spewing their bigoted attitudes from before World War II in his face, it could be rather pleasant. But it was a dangerous game to play. What the hell? Today wasn't a bad day, so today, he would play.

Faking a smile he entered the older man's room. He was quite short, and a bit on the heavier side compared to many of the other elderly men they got, who looked like live corpses. This man seemed rather healthy, for being well over ninety. Seemed like everyone in his family lived into an unnaturally old age, judging from his papers. Reportedly, his great grandma lived to be over a hundred.

 _Oh my God, I'll be stuck with you until_ I _get enrolled as a patient here._

\- “Hello, Mr. Crawley. My name is Jeremy Lake, I'm here with your medication.”

The other man had just put his books in clever order, many of them old ones, and Jeremy could hardly resist the urge to browse through them.

\- “Oh, thank you, just put it over there on the nightstand,” the man said. His voice was thin and there was a light halt to his steps. But he at least seemed alive, he had color in his cheeks and breath in his lungs still. Plus, he walked. Sort of.

He did as he was told, and the older man sat down in an armchair by the bookshelves.

\- “I hope you will be comfortable here,” Jeremy stated, and Mr. Crawley smiled.

\- “I'm sure I will… What was your name, again?”

\- “Jeremy. You can call me Jeremy.”

Mr. Crawley nodded in comprehension. - “Do you have a girlfriend, Jeremy?” he asked, and Jeremy gulped. What was it with old people's obsession with other people's love lives? Were their olden days really that romantic? He found it hard to believe.

\- “Not exactly,” he stated, rolling his eyes at his own attempt. It was 20-fucking-15 and he hadn't been closeted since 2009. - “Boyfriend,” he corrected.

Something shifted in the pale gaze of the other man, but Jeremy could at least be glad he didn't look shocked or disgusted, as so many his age did. Some even insisted on being taken care of by someone else, in which case Jeremy would be glad to just have them rot. Mr. Crawley didn't seem the type.

\- “He'll be picking me up later today, after work,” Jeremy spoke, almost in spite of himself. It was always rather amusing to watch old people's reactions to the modern world that they so miserably failed to adapt to. - “It's our three year anniversary.”

Mr. Crawley smiled delighted.

\- “Well, in that case, congratulations,” he stated warmly.

Jeremy could hardly suppress a weak grin.

\- “Thanks.” He wondered briefly whether to say more, but then he figured he could just go for it. - “No offense, but it's nice to see someone… Your age who is so open-minded.”

Mr. Crawley sighed deeply.

\- “I have seen a lot of things in my life, young man,” he stated, - “And I've met a lot of people. Men like you, too. And I have been glad to see the world evolving.” He shook his head in something looking like disbelief. - “To think you can get married now…”

Jeremy couldn't suppress the small laugh that escaped him. From a historical perspective, it was quite odd, wasn't it? How fast the world had evolved over the course of this man's lifetime. It must seem crazy to him, even if Jeremy couldn't wait for time to pass.

\- “Tell me some stories then,” he inquired, figuring he wasn't busy. Not like Jessica would miss him – she wanted him out of her sight. - “About the people you've met.”

Mr. Crawley seemed to think for a while, and just for a brief moment, Jeremy thought he had lost him to the depths of dementia. But then he was back again, and there was light in his eyes.

\- “Let me tell you about the first man I met who was like you.”

'Like you'. Jeremy had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. The man was hardly born in the 1700s, he could say the word 'homosexual' without his tongue exploding. He wanted to hear the story, so he smiled a bit too politely instead.

\- “His name was Thomas Barrow,” Mr. Crawley explained, eyes drifting the way old people's eyes did, when they were losing themselves in their never-ending list of memories. - “When I was a child he worked as an under-butler at my grandparents' estate.”

'At my grandparents' estate'. He spoke the words like they didn't mean anything. Jeremy didn't know what an under-butler was either, by the way, but he supposed it was the person who would take over should the actual butler fall over dead or something. Which he supposed tended to happen to people who worked their asses off all day for rich people.

\- “I lived there back then, and when my mother got married again and we moved away, he came to live with us for a while, serving as butler.”

\- “Was he a good man?” Jeremy wanted to know.

Mr. Crawley frowned. - “That depends on who you're asking,” he confirmed, with a light laugh to his hoarse voice, - “But he was always kind to me. He became like a father to me, more so than my stepfather ever did… You see, my real father died the day I was born.”

Jeremy's eyes widened. He had noticed his year of death had been the same as Mr. Crawley's year of birth, but it never dawned on him that it was the exact same day.

\- “So Mr. Barrow… Or Thomas… He became more like a father to me. I remember one time… My mother had me homeschooled, and the teacher used the rod on me when I was naughty, as teachers did. Mr. Barrow never liked it, and one day he had a talk with my teacher, and the beatings stopped. Just like that. He was very modern, Mr. Barrow, in many ways. Though, I must say, I do believe he had some dirt on my teacher. He was good at scheming and plotting.”

Jeremy couldn't suppress a grin. - “You think he blackmailed him?”

\- “Wouldn't be below him,” Mr. Crawley insisted, and Jeremy laughed.

\- “Serves him right. The teacher, I mean.”

\- “Yes, we know that now,” Mr. Crawley said solemnly, - “But few did then. In the end, Mr. Barrow… I don't think he had a very good childhood, which was why he did so well in making sure I got one.”

Jeremy nodded solemnly. It wasn't hard to imagine, what with times being what they were.

\- “Must have been a hard life in general,” Jeremy dared say, - “Being in service your whole life and then his sexuality, on top of everything.”

Mr. Crawley nodded solemnly. - “He did eventually get out of service. But yes, he did… He did have a hard life. I don't know much, because of course, he never spoke to me about these things, if he ever spoke to anyone, but I know he had feelings of loneliness, especially in his younger years, and I learned he tried to take his life once, when I was a very small child.”

 _And 'round and 'round the wheel spins,_  Jeremy thought bitterly. Theworld still had some work to do.

\- “I suppose he always knew he was destined for something bigger than service.”

Jeremy's looked up. He could relate to that, resenting his job, where he was in life.

\- “You said he got out of it…?”

\- “Yes,” Mr. Crawley stated, - “He worked as a war medic during World War I...”

Jeremy's eyes widened. - “Impressive.”

Mr. Crawley nodded.

\- “It was, and he was good at it. At least I think he must have been. He saved up and took medical exams when he reached his early forties. Worked as a doctor for the next twenty-five years. Ran the estate as a hospital for wounded soldiers and the like during World War II.”

\- “Holy shit...” Jeremy wasn't really allowed to swear in front of the patients, but for now, screw that.

Mr. Crawley looked at him reproachfully. - "Language, young man."

Jeremy muttered his apology, and Mr. Crawley went on.

\- “As for his… preferences; I learned of them quite early, if I dare say so myself. He found a man when I was about ten, and they settled down as well as two men could at the time. My mother covered for them plenty, and in doing so, she had to tell me. She just said that some men like men the way 'they were supposed to like women', as one would say at the time, and that Mr. Barrow was one of them.”

\- “How did you react?” Jeremy wanted to know.

Mr. Crawley laughed warmly. - “I went right to ask him about it. Poor man, I must have freaked him right out! Told him what my mother had told me, and he sat me down and asked me: 'Does it bother you, Master George?'. He always called me that.”

\- “What did you say?”

\- “I said that I didn't think so. And then I asked him the same question. 'Does it bother you, Mr. Barrow?'. And I will never forget what he said.”

Jeremy sat in curious anticipation.

\- “He said: 'No, Master George, it doesn't bother me. It bothers a lot of people, I'll tell you that, but it doesn't bother me.' And that was who he was, in the end.”

\- “He stayed strong in a world that was against him?”

\- “So it seemed.”

Jeremy breathed a sigh of relief. He was a sucker for these kind of stories, and they were few and far between. People didn't talk about sexual orientation before, so the stories of those who had to live through the oppression had so often been forgotten. And then there were these little glimpses into a not too distant past. Jeremy felt oddly content at Mr. Crawley's story, as if some puzzle had been put together without him having to move a finger to make it so.

\- “What happened to him, in the end?”

Mr. Crawley smiled. - “He found happiness,” he stated, - “Stayed with his partner until his dying day. I don't know how they got away with it, but they did.”

\- “When did he pass?” Jeremy wanted to know.

\- “He got diagnosed with lung cancer in 1966,” Mr. Crawley explained, - "He smoked like a chimney as long as I knew him, but lived well into his seventies. His partner died a couple of years before him... But don't worry, he hung on.”

Jeremy found his mouth falling slightly agape.

\- “To see the legalization, you mean?”

Mr. Crawley nodded.

\- “He was in a lot of pain. You know, medication wasn't what it is now; we had almost just figured out cigarettes could kill you. And my mother and I stayed by his bedside. I kept telling him it was time, he had to let go. And he just looked at us, it was as if he was young again. And he said: 'Something's coming. I can feel it.', and he was right. They announced it on the radio only days later. He always had a sixth sense about these things – my mother claimed he felt the same thing right before the first World War, when he saw his way out and enlisted to become a medic before most young men had even thought of it. He was very intellectual, and observant. And as he heard it on the radio, that he wouldn't have to fear prosecution anymore, he looked absolutely triumphant. And then he whispered: 'About bloody time, eh?', in that heavy Northern accent he never rid himself of… He died only a week later, but I like to think he was happy. I believe he was.”

Jeremy laughed, feeling a lump forming in his throat. Thomas Barrow. He would note that name, see if he could find the grave somewhere, but he doubted there would be a stone still. Most the grand families had lost their money after the crack or beyond, and the Crawley family quite likely hadn't been able to afford to keep all the servants' graves for all eternity.

\- “Do you have a picture of him?” he found himself asking, and Mr. Crawley looked rather amused at the question.

\- “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

He got up from his chair and halted over to the photo albums that Jessica had mentioned. He grabbed a small one, with disheveled, beige covers, opened it with careful movements, and handed it over to Jeremy once he found the picture.

 _Sergeant Thomas Barrow, 1917,_ was written under the picture. It showed a man in his late '20s, by Jeremy's assumption. His hair was dark and slicked back and he had solid bone structure, but what caught Jeremy's attention was the eyes. Despite it being an old photograph with its details blurred out after so many decades, you could still catch a glimpse of the look in his eyes; the intensity of his glance, the perseverance. This was a man who had lived, who had thrived. It was almost as if he was there for a moment.

\- “Handsome, too,” Jeremy muttered, more so to himself than anything.

Mr. Crawley chuckled.

\- “You weren't alone in thinking so,” he confirmed, - “People tended to wonder why he never married."

Jeremy smiled vaguely, eyes lingering on the picture for a while, savoring it, before handing it back. Then he put his hands on his knees, sighing.

\- “Thanks for the story, Mr. Crawley,” he said sincerely, earning a welcoming nod in return, - “I gotta get back to work.”

As he was about to leave, the elderly man called after him, in a somewhat confused tone. - “Hold on just a mintue...”

Jeremy turned, finding his face changed, almost empty, if not a bit lost and sad. He waited a moment, before asking.

\- “Do you have any plans for the day?”

He spoke the words as if he had never spoken them before. Jeremy knew the signs well enough, and it made his heart ache. - “My boyfriend's taking me out after work,” he repeated, - “It's our three year anniversary.”

\- “Oh,” the man acknowledged, thinking for a while, then smiling absentmindedly. - “The world has become so kind with the years.” He looked up at him then. - “Well, I hope you have a wonderful day.”

Jeremy attempted a weak smile. - “I'm sure we will, Mr. Crawley. Now, remember to take your medication.”

He knew he sounded more sincere than he usually did in these situations.

Then he shut the door behind him.

 

Nick picked him up after work, as planned, pulling him into a passionate kiss.

\- “How was your day?” he asked.

\- “Quite alright, in fact,” Jeremy had to admit. Nick looked surprised.

\- “That's a first in a while.”

\- “Yeah, we had a new patient today. Great guy, actually.”

Nick nodded in comprehension, seeming quite astonished by the information. It wasn't every day his boyfriend spoke well about his work.

\- “Care to share?” he asked curiously, when Jeremy only sat there with an estranged look in his eyes.

\- “He told me a story,” Jeremy answered, - “And it actually made sense.”

Nick chuckled. - “That's not every day.”

\- “Sure isn't.”

\- “What was it about then?”

\- “A gay man he knew back when he was a child.”

Nick's eyes widened. - “Back when _he_ was a child? Must have been a long time ago.”

\- “Nearly a century,” Jeremy confirmed, - “It was a good story.”

Nick breathed a sigh of exhaustion. - “Gay in the 1920s, huh? Can't have been easy.”

\- “Sure wasn't, from what he could tell...”

Jeremy drew a deep breath. - “I'm glad to be living now, aren't you?”

Nick sighed. - “Are you going political on me again?”

Jeremy grinned. - “Nah, he just got me thinking is all.”

Nick looked to him before lending his focus back to the road. - “Tell me, then. The story he told you.”

Jeremy turned towards his boyfriend. - “Alright, so apparently, his name was Thomas Barrow...”

 


End file.
